Our long trip of
six stories with three limp-as-wet-dishrag stretcher-born men made
for my stumbling on the stairs and falling face-down to the floor on
more than one landing. I continued falling amid sultry-sounding
coughs and wheezes, and until we actually came into the room itself,
this seemed to continue without relent and apart from the passage of
time.

I had but little
idea as to why, even if I felt worn, fatigued, dazed, and numb to the
world, and when I collapsed against the wall and sat on the now icy
floor, I noted steaming walls and faint voices. It was a strain to
pick them out, much less comprehend their meaning, until one spoke
slightly clearer.

I looked up
again, and through clouded eyes saw what looked like a thick and wild
river in flood-stage, and when I looked down, a stranger-yet sight
overtook my vision and made it a slave.

A strange door had appeared to replace
the normal off-white passageway, and this door – a brilliant
scarlet – was guarded in some fashion by tall and thin fiends of
sooty mien. They spoke in slow and horrible tones, even as one of
them caressed a bulbous spray can and began painting the door a final
and unfading black while the other fiends chanted. Their chant –
strange, slow, unhurried – spoke of the ongoing process I was
watching, even as my vision slowly faded to a darkly colorless state.

I jerked awake what seemed seconds
later, and amid faint groaning noises, I opened my eyes. A brief
glimpse of my clothing made for a strange thought.

“I really look like a
chimney-cleaner now,” I thought, and unbidden, a rejoinder came to
follow: “yes, and cleaning while someone had a good hot fire in the
firebox.”

The grime and smoke-smudges that I saw
through the holes in my charred clothing seemed to speak of serious
burns, and as I felt my head, dust and grime seemed to sift down. I
then touched bare flesh, and Gabriel staggered over. He looked
filthy, and when he spoke, I marveled.

“First, you play with fire in hell,”
he said. His voice sounded strange amid the ringing of my ears.
“You then repeatedly make a noise like a huge white animal that
resembles a cat...”

“What?” I squeaked.

“Dogs don't have claws like you do,”
said Gabriel, “nor do they make that noise. That animal does.”

He paused, coughed, spat a
nasty-looking blob on the floor, then said, “then escape from
another exploding southern powder mill, and now have a most severe
tonsure. In other circumstances, and in other clothing, I could name
you a friar.”

“Friar, he says,” muttered another
voice that took seconds to recognize as that of Freek. “I'd be
careful with whatever is hid up inside your finger, as it nearly blew
the house to perdition.”

“Anna..?” I asked.

“I suspect they are either on the
premises or coming quickly,” said Gabriel. “Hendrik sent for
someone.”

“But how will they find them?” I
asked.

“He didn't send just anyone,” said
Gabriel. “He sent Andreas.”

A brief pause, then “I think you
need to go downstairs into that room where you change and sometimes
sleep.”

“W-why?” I asked.

“I think you endured enough hell for
one day,” said Freek. “Besides, we need to hunt up places to
rest on this floor so we can stay hidden while we remain here.”

“And that p-post?” I gasped. “I
need a bath!”

I found my feet, then asked, “is
that why I was to, uh, stake out that bathtub?”

“I can most likely get you some
clothing while you bathe,” said Gabriel.

As I wobbled over to the doorway, I
noted the grotesque carvings seemed to have somehow been defaced, and
once in the hallway, I nearly collided with a cook. He looked at me,
then said, “I'm glad we have those things here.”

“Th-things?” I asked.

“Let me bring them in,” he said.
“Maria sent them up while you were gone.”

I went in the brown door, then turned
left, and as I did, I was astonished to find not merely two buckets
of water, but also a bar of soap and what looked like a quilted piece
of cloth. I went behind the screen, and began carefully removing my
clothing, now wary for any burned places. But seconds later, someone
tapped on the door.

“Yes?” I asked. My voice was very
hoarse.

“I have the rest of them here,”
said the cook, as he opened the door.

For some reason, I stopped undressing,
and it proved wise, for the cook needed three trips to bring in all
that was needed. Once he said he was done, I came out to look.

A full-fueled heating lamp was burning
at low flame under a boiler, while the two buckets now faintly
steamed. Two of those soft bath towels lay upon a stool, while a
second set of greens, complete with underwear, lay beneath them. I
unthinkingly removed the button and laid it on top.

“Then what did Gabriel go get?” I
asked.

“He did not know about your
clothing, nor did he know of Maria's dream,” said the soft voice.

“Dream?” I asked, as I resumed
stripping off my clothing.

“She knew you would need clean
clothing and a bath once you'd finished today,” said the soft
voice, “and once you bathe, rest would be wise.”

“The posting?” I asked.

“When you are able,” said the soft
voice. “What happened is well-known.”

As I bathed, I wondered about a pack.
It sounded distinctly wise, given as I would be traveling in the near
future, and I tried recalling the details of the ones I'd had and
used where I came from. I found it very hard to concentrate,
so much so that after bathing and dressing, I stumbled out of the
door burdened down by a great deal beyond what I was carrying and
into a room that was now vacant of all habitation.

The downward stairs seemed to be
equally empty, and by the time I found 'my' room, I wanted to groan
and put out my arms like a zombie, for I was walking in my sleep. My
things mostly went on the floor, including my shoes, and when I saw
the single wax candle burning on the table by my bedside, I sneezed
and blew the thing out. I then collapsed on the bed into a dreamless
state of unconsciousness.

This dreamless state did not endure,
however, for after a time, someone was carefully looking all over my
body. Gentle touches here and there seemed endemic, along with faint
sighs of pleasure and an occasional giggle, and amid these noises
soft murmurs now and then spoke of burnt clothing. I then began
awakening.

I did not wish to awaken, however, as
I was well-beyond exhausted, but soft speech continued, and finally,
my eyes opened to see a bright-lit room...

“An infernally crowded room,”
I muttered. “This thing has enough room for one person, assuming a
lot of care.”

“I cannot find a burnt place on
you,” muttered Anna.

“His hair, Anna,” said Hans. “He
will need a cap so he does not become ill.”

“Cap?” I muttered.

“Especially during that trip,”
said Gabriel. “Now why do you use such fine powder in that
musket?”

“It put that deer down fast enough,”
said Anna, “and then, it made me glad for that vial of Geneva.”

“I thought you did not consume...”

Gabriel then grunted, and Anna looked
as if inclined to box his ears.

“She does not like its taste,”
said Hans. “I had to rub her some, as she was sore after shooting
that deer.”

“I did not need your elbow,” said
Gabriel. “Did Andreas find you?”

“Yes, as we were coming here,”
said Anna. “We started a bit later than we thought we would, and
when I heard...”

“Heard?” I asked.

“I have no idea how you did that,”
said Anna, “but somehow, I heard your voice as we were going out
the door. You spoke of burn ointment, and I packed that and the
other things used for burns.”

Anna paused, then said, “I still
could not find a single burned place on you, except for your hair.”

Hans then turned around to fetch a
tinned copper mug, then turned back toward me. I thought to sit up,
and managed it easily.

“Now Maarten will have something to
speak about when it gets warm,” he said.

“M-more witches?” I asked.

“No,” said Hans. “As a break
from those things.”

Anna looked at him with eyes wide in
stunned shock and open mouth.

“He has never managed a calling
sermon worth anything,” said Hans, “and now, he can do that easy.
He'll need to talk to you first, I think.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“Gabriel spoke of what you did,”
said Hans. “So, you know what hellfire is like, and you have seen
Brimstone, pot-and-saucer hat and all, so now he can do one of those
things easy.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Yes,” said Hans. “A real
Hellfire-and-Brimstone sermon. He has wanted to preach one for
ages.”

Anna clouted Hans gently, then said,
“those books?”

“Those are coming in a hurry,”
said Hans. “Talk has it there was enough to need a freighting
wagon, and I think it is a special one, as they talked of sparks on
the road from the horses' shoes.”

“Just the books?” I asked.

“There is some stuff for Georg, or
so I heard,” said Hans. “There are a lot of big sacks for those
books, as there are a lot of those things.”

“Did the ones I ordered come?” I
asked.

“All of those,” said Hans, “and
then some used for navigation...”

Gabriel's face was inscrutable.

“And then, a full set of those
Compendium books,” said Hans, “and a full collection of Grim
books, and then those special ones, too.”

“Special?” I asked.

“An instrument-maker's set,” said
Hans. “I have heard tell about that Compendium set.”

“I hope I can use those,” said
Gabriel conspiratorially, “as the set here is an old one. Does it
include the Doomsday book?”

“I think so,” said Hans blithely –
until he realized what Gabriel had asked. “Now why is it
you want the place to go to hell?”

“It does not speak of the final
destruction,” said Gabriel, “but about the people, their towns,
their farms, and their flocks, and that by numbers and maps.”
Gabriel paused, then said, “I will be most glad for the maps,
especially if that is a recent book.”

“I heard all of these things used
the latest ledgers,” said Hans. “Now why do you want the maps?”

“Some wretch cut them out of the set
here,” said Gabriel. “I suspect your house would be the safest
place to put them, as my suspicions about General's Row have grown
greatly.”

“Yes, and how is that?” asked
Hans.

“I found a spy-hole but lately
vacated near that meeting room,” said Gabriel, “and by the time I
saw Hendrik, he was speaking to Karl. He'd overheard one of those
Generals speaking of the meeting, and that to a messenger.”

“What?” asked Anna. “He was a
Schpee?”

Hearing the word 'spy', especially
from Anna, was not comforting.

“He was,” said Gabriel. “Those
men on the council...”

“Yes, and where are they?” asked
Hans. “Talk has it they were bad witches.”

“Were is correct,” said
Gabriel archly, “and I suspect that will have the witches after
them, especially once they learn of what happened to three of those
men.”

“Those that buried scrolls?” I
asked.

“You did not notice, did you?”
asked Gabriel. “You were too busy tossing them to look closely.”

“What happened to them?” I asked.

“All of them have missing toes,”
said Gabriel.

Anna shook violently, then said,
“how?”

“It seems they were burned off,”
said Gabriel. “There are scars, but they indicate rapid healing
with no infections of consequence.”

“That is good, then,” said Hans.
“They...”

“Good?” squeaked Gabriel.
“They'll draw every witch within fifty miles after them, and that's
them. I have no idea what Freek will do.”

“What happened to him?” asked
Anna.

“His hand, dear,” I said. “He
tried to poke me with a black stone knife, and most of his hand went
up in smoke.”

“That means he is as good as dead,
then,” said Hans.

“He is most definitely not
dead,” said Gabriel. “His hand was healed completely, and if one
looks carefully, one can see a difference.”

“His palm?” I asked.

“He can hide that readily,” said
Gabriel. “I mean the skin is slightly lighter.”

“Then he is marked, and so are those
others,” said Hans.

“I know,” said Gabriel. “They'll
need to leave the area and travel for a time, and how long a time is,
I wonder.”

“Until...” I paused in speaking,
then said whispering, “a few months.”

“Months?” asked Gabriel. I heard
him reaching for a ledger.

“Our trip,” I said, “and then
clearing that place, and then...”

“I think this room is a bit crowded
for what you have to say,” said Gabriel.

“Security?” I asked.

“This room is really close,” said
Anna, “and its lighting could stand improvement.”

“And I left my ledger in my office,”
said Gabriel. “I need a flat surface for writing, and this room
has no such thing large enough.”

I needed to resume my stockings and
boots, and once burdened again, I met Gabriel out in the hall. The
fatigue I felt was still sufficient to make travel on foot for any
real distance most unwise, and as the two of us walked, I asked, “the
post?”

“Is being looked after,” said
Gabriel. “It seems that 'messenger' wasn't the only person heading
toward the Swartsburg.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“I saw no less than five Generals
leave in the space of a minute, and Sepp says that place has no one
in it.”

“I wish I could bug that
place,” I sighed.

“That would work well,” said
Gabriel. “The stink of those bugs would but add to the odors
present.”

“N-no,” I said. “R-radio
transmitters and closed-circuit TV cameras.”

Gabriel stopped in mid-stride and
slumped against the nearest wall of the passage we were in, and
gasped, “the way you talk makes me long for my own private
word-book.”

“Was one of those ordered?” I
asked.

“Two,” he said. “The two
together might not be a Gustaaf, but it should help.”

“Gustaaf?” I asked.

“If a word exists, the Gustaaf has
it,” said Gabriel, “or so I was told. I wonder about some of
what you say.”

“I sometimes wonder myself,” I
said. “I hope we can get some food.”

“I arranged for that,” said
Gabriel. “It might well be there now.”

Opening the door of Gabriel's office
made for anticipation followed by 'letdown', for all I could smell
was fresh-sawn wood and what might have been shavings. He looked in
his wood-bin first, then as he went out into the hall to fetch a
lantern, I heard him say, “no food yet, but someone brought some
wood-scraps.”

“Wood-scraps?” I asked. “For
your fire?”

“That especially,” he said, as he
returned with a burning candle. “Now I can light the lantern in
here, and we can get to work.”

Gabriel's concept of 'work' proved
slightly strange, however, for it included stove-preparation and then
lighting a meager stoking with the stub of a tallow candle. As he
adjusted his stove's controls, I heard steps out in the hallway, then
a cook showed.

“Yes?” I asked tiredly.

“I see you're still among the
living,” said the cook, as he brought out a wicker basket. “The
wine should be along shortly.”

“Wine?” I gasped.

“Unfermented,” he said. “Anna
stopped by before she left, and said the other type wasn't a good
idea.” He paused, then said, “do you need porridge?”

Gabriel turned, then looked in his
desk and brought forth a small cloth bag. He felt it, then said,
“not today, though I suspect two bags would be wise within a week.”

“The trip?” asked the cook.
Gabriel nodded.

Once the cook had left and Gabriel
closed the door, I asked, “porridge?”

“It isn't common up here,” said
Gabriel, “mostly as some of the grains used want hotter and dryer
weather than that of the first kingdom. I developed a taste for it
while at school.”

“Do you cook it in here?” I asked.

“I am an execrable cook,”
said Gabriel, “but I can manage porridge.”

“How is it cooked?” I asked.

“A small mug works well,” said
Gabriel. “I usually put in one measuring cup of the meal and two
of boiling water, with three pinches of salt. I add sugar-tree sap
before eating it.”

“How long does it, uh, take?” I
asked.

“Perhaps half of a small glass,”
said Gabriel. “When I wasn't traipsing with a group, I commonly
cooked it morning and evening.”

“It isn't expensive, is it?” I
asked.

“Nothing of an edible nature
is cheap if purchased in the fourth kingdom,” said Gabriel, “but
porridge-grain comes close.”

“Could we make it up here?” I
asked. I was beginning to get an idea.

“We do,” said Gabriel. “The
main kitchen has grinding facilities. It's cheaper to get the whole
grains.”

“One of them needs to stay here,”
said Gabriel, “and while which one of them went would matter little
in some of those places, there are locations where women are
not commonly heard in such capacities.”

“Duh...” I spluttered.

A tap came at the door, and Gabriel
brought in a small jug. Uncorking it loosed a fragrant aroma of
grape juice, and when I sipped the stuff from my tinned mug, I
marveled at its chill. Someone had iced the stuff.

“I know,” said Gabriel, as he
resumed his seat after tending the stove. “Now what does 'duh'
mean?”

“I've heard of the concept before,”
I muttered, “and I do not care for it. Hence 'duh' to express how
I feel about choosing gender over qualification.”

I then recalled the need to eat, as
did Gabriel, and we both applied ourselves to the food. I was glad
for its plainness, and once I'd eaten a thick slice of bread smeared
heavily with cheese-spread, I asked, “food?”

“Three of those going have done
traipsing,” said Gabriel. “Have you?”

“Uh, not here,” I said.

“I would not be so certain,”
said Gabriel. “I have it on good authority that you have
traveled some.”

“Yes, and not here,” I
said.

“From where you live to the king's
house is considered a fair distance,” said Gabriel. “Most would
wait for a buggy rather than walk.”

“There and back..?” I asked.

“In one day, and that on foot,”
said Gabriel. “Only the west school's students think to travel
further in a day, and they do that mounted.”

“But I wasn't going, uh...” I
paused, then gasped, “how far is this trip to go?”

“The length of the continent,”
said Gabriel. “Hendrik once traveled from the west school to the
north-tip, and did it in a bit more than a week.”

“We won't manage that,” I
said.

“I know,” said Gabriel. “We'll
need to stop once a day at Public Houses, then get supplies, and then
at each kingdom house.”

“Uh, n-no,” I said. “No one
will want to go that fast.”

“Which is why we need to pick our
people carefully,” said Gabriel. “Hendrik needs to go, as does
the armorer, and you and I, and...”

“How many people do we need?” I
asked.

“That is the rub,” said Gabriel.
“With but four, we could pass as friars or perhaps as lecturers,
but custom...”

“Demands a huge mob of
people,” I spluttered. “Forty or more, unless I miss my guess,
and ten is about as much as is wise if we want to hurry.”

Gabriel wrote for a moment, then as I
sipped grape juice, he said, “you were right about that number, by
the way, and ten sounds much better. Now who would you pick?”

“Uh, who can we trust?” I asked.
“We don't want to be taking people who might turn witch, especially
at the wrong moment.”

“That lets out many of the guards,”
said Gabriel. “Those who sit with you would not worry me, and
perhaps two others I can think of.”

“Oh, one person,” I blurted. “He
used to be a freighter, and he spoke about the trip and gave
advice...”

Gabriel's eyes opened wide, then as he
wrote more, he muttered, “I forgot him, for some reason – him,
and this other person who used to cut wood.”

“Cut wood?” I asked.

“He brings in a fair amount of meat
when he isn't posting,” said Gabriel, “and then, he's got
greens.”

“Like I do?” I asked.

“There are only four people other
than you with that clothing,” said Gabriel, “and three of them
are out traipsing right now.”

“Traipsing?” I asked. “What
for?”

“Brigands and thieves, mostly,”
said Gabriel. “Usually they're out a month or more at a time.”

“And him?” I asked.

“His plot is local,” said Gabriel,
“which makes it harder. The worst thieves are in the kingdom
house...”

“And a good percentage of them are
no longer able to steal,” I said. “Am I correct?”

Gabriel nodded, then said, “town has
been unusually quiet since you went after Koenraad.”

I counted mentally, and said, “eight,
then?”

“That's actually believable,”
said Gabriel. “That will mean two buggies for the baggage.”

“Baggage?” I squeaked.

“While we didn't usually take tents
with us,” said Gabriel, “those at the west school did.”

“G-ground-cloths,” I said. “I
might know where some such things are. That third floor arms-room
had baskets of them.”

After another short spate of eating
and drinking, I asked, “and after the trip?”

“What we do after the trip
depends upon what we learn while traveling,” said Gabriel. “Oh,
I didn't see this. Someone dished up some fowl.”

Gabriel now brought out a small tinned
copper 'tureen', which went on his desk. Removing the lid showed the
marbled dark-and-white meat of an obvious quoll, and as he put pieces
on a slice of bread, he said, “this reminds me. About twelve miles
north of where you live, as the quoll flies...”

“Crow?” I asked.

“Those don't like cold weather,”
said Gabriel, “nor do ravens, unless such birds have two heads and
reside upon red flags.” Gabriel paused, then said, “why did you
speak of crows?”

“Uh, they fly straight?” I asked.

“Perhaps if they are inclined to
hurry,” said Gabriel. “Quolls might be clumsy fliers, but they
do tend to go more or less straight if they're flying. I've seen
enough crows and ravens fly to know they commonly don't.”

A brief pause, then, “I was speaking
of the Abbey, and its distance from where you live.”

“Oh...” I gasped. I nearly
spewed.

“It is named aptly, for there are
said to be worms there,” said Gabriel. “They'll need removal
prior to using the place.”

“Using?” I asked.

“To train an army, among other
things,” said Gabriel. “Given your performance during your
training, as well as afterward, I'd say you need three ledgers to
write down your thoughts.”

“And more scribblers,” I
muttered. “As for that Abbey place, it doesn't just have worms.
It has idols...”

“You mean it has one of those
rooms?” squeaked Gabriel.

“I suspect so,” I said. “Then,
there was a trap...”

“Hans spoke of that,” said
Gabriel, “and he said where there was one, there might be more of
them.”

Within moments, it became obvious that
neither of us were up to solving the issues of trip-supplies and
planning in a short time, and the conversation segued to the
'elders'. Gabriel turned a few pages in his ledger, then began
writing.

“At last count, their combined
monetary resources are sufficient for quite some time,” said
Gabriel. “Hendrik thinks it wise to add what can be added.”

“Uh, how much?” I asked.

“Why do you ask?” said Gabriel.
His curiosity was utterly unfeigned.

“Traipsing,” I said. “They'll
need to...”

“I see,” said Gabriel. “Some
off-duty guards will be combing the storerooms today and tomorrow,
and they leave tomorrow night by postal buggy.”

“How will they travel?” I asked.

“Each
buggy will carry two men and their supplies, along with what mails
show,” said Gabriel, “and during a common post-stop once
they are out of the area, they'll unload themselves and their
equipment.”

“And how will they travel then?”
I asked. I had lost my train of thought with Gabriel's interruption,
and now I knew why I had suspected a need for resupply during the
months-long 'hiding'.

“Post-stops commonly have at least
two teams,” said Gabriel, “along with several horses kept for
messengers. They are to use those until they can procure teams and
buggies.”

“And then take the messenger-horses
back?” I asked.

Gabriel nodded.

“Do they have sufficient funds to
provide themselves with food, neccessities, a pair of horses, and a
buggy?”

Gabriel abruptly wiped his face with
his hand, then muttered for several seconds before responding. “No
one, and I mean no one, saw that,” he said. “They cannot
go out with more than perhaps three hundred guilders per pair.”

“Which might buy a decent buggy,”
I said. “The team will be more, and then living expenses on top of
that.” I paused, then said, “and I hope in all honesty they
don't spend most of their waking hours in Public Houses.”

“They won't see much if they do
that,” said Gabriel.

“No, something worse,” I said.
“Not only will they have trouble making twenty miles a day, but
they're bound to fetch up at a witch-run Public House sooner or later
– or, failing that, they'll be questioned by witch-sympathizers in
such places.”

Gabriel's mouth now wobbled from the
bottom of a full-open position.

“And while twenty miles a day might
work passably for them,” I murmured, “they need to avoid
undue questions. Hence, all such stops need to be quick ones.”

“Beer and bread, then,” said
Gabriel, as he resumed writing. “Outside of where Hendrik needs to
stop daily, it may be wise for us to do likewise.”

“Jugs?” I asked. “Perhaps
several for each buggy, as well as tinned copper mugs?”

“Could you make more?” asked
Gabriel.

“I could,” I said, “but given
what I was told to expect regarding...”

Again, Gabriel wiped his face.

“The buggies?” I asked.

“Have you worked on those before?”
he asked.

“I have to a small degree,”
I said. “I was told by that one man to expect the metal parts, and
I've never given the underside of a buggy much attention before.”

“The wooden portions are being
worked on right now,” said Gabriel, “and the metal portions were
stripped off days ago. Have they showed where you work?”

“Not that I know of,” I said.
“Are there examples of buggies handy that are similar to those?”

“There are,” said Gabriel, “but
the metal portions on buggies tend to be similar as to function. You
might look at the buggy where you live, as those tend to be as clear
as anything that way.”

“Will there be many more postings
before we leave?” I asked.

“Those are still being worked out,”
said Gabriel. “We still don't know the entire number of missing
guards beyond 'over twenty, and less than twenty-five'.”

“Which is nearly a third of them,
unless I miss my guess,” I said. “Hence more postings than the
usual for those that remain.” I paused, then said, “what about
while we're gone?”

“There will be a fair number of
guards living on the premises then,” said Gabriel – who seconds
later 'hitched' before blurting, “is that why you thought to
have such a small number of guards on the trip?”

“No, not that,” I said. “Remember
how we need to move quickly? A big meandering swarm guarantees
lengthy stays in any Public House we stop in, as it will take hours
just to get the food, then more hours to eat the stuff, then we leave
camp when the slowest person is ready to leave and stop when the
laziest person wants to go to sleep.”

“And none of those eight is either
of those things,” said Gabriel. “No, I take that back. I
sometimes have trouble starting early.”

“I don't,” I said, “and I'll
roust you if needed. Now do I finish at my posting, or what?”

Gabriel had but little more to say,
and as I left his office, I had an intimation: while most of the
house had some idea of what had happened to me, that could not be
said about Gijs and Rolf. They were due at the post shortly, and
when I staggered around the corner into the hallway leading to the
bench, I could hear low speech coming from points ahead.

“Is it them?” I thought, as I
nearly tripped over my own feet. “I think I recognize one of the
voices.”

Seconds later, the bench hove into
view, and I saw not merely those I thought might be there, but also
someone I had never expected to see in the king's house. Sarah was
sitting between Gijs and Rolf.

“W-what are you doing here?” I
squeaked.

“I came here with Hans and Anna,”
said Sarah, “and I needed to go into town to fetch some things.”

“Things?” I asked.

“I read that note, and needed to ask
about it,” she said, “and what I heard tells me a great deal.
I'll be heading off to get the stuff after I ask a few more
questions.”

“W-warm weather clothing?” I
asked, after touching the door to the king's office.

“That, and some other things,”
said Sarah.

“How will you get home, though?” I
asked.

“I have that worked out,” said
Sarah archly. She reminded me a bit of Gabriel then. “A buggy is
going into town to get some supplies, then it will head into Roos
with some work for you.”

“For me?” I asked.

“Buggy-parts,” said Gijs. “They
need to pick up some supplies before bringing it over.”

“Supplies?” I asked.

“They did their asking, and what
Georg calls first quality iron isn't,” said Gijs. “Were
you speaking with Gabriel?”

“Y-yes, some,” I said. “I'm
really tired, so much so that I'm not going to be able to walk home
the usual way.”

“You might try riding,” said
Sarah, as she stood and then turned. I then saw her 'seat'.

“Your sewing?” I asked.

“That and much more,” said Sarah.
“I need to get a mug filled, then find that buggy.”

After she left, I asked, “how did
she not sit on her, uh, needles?”

“She's clever that way,” said
Gijs. “That way, and many other ways.”

“Do you know her?” I asked.

“Two classes before mine, and three
before Rolf's,” said Gijs, “and I would be careful with her.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

Rolf giggled, then as he brought out a
ledger, he said, “she made the list five years in a row, and that
was in school. Her traipsing is still spoken of.”

“What did she do?” I asked.

“She did not go into the valley,”
said Gijs conspiratorially, “but she went everywhere else, and I do
mean everywhere.”

“Did she go into the...” I almost
said Swartsburg.

“If you are talking of the
Swartsburg,” said Gijs, “I suspect so, and that multiple times.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“Not every ledger that students
write in is let out for reading,” said Gijs, as he brought out his
own ledger. “I saw one of hers once, and it was a marvel.”

“What was in it?” I asked.

“I'm not sure if this was the
Swartsburg or the fifth kingdom house,” said Gijs, “but either
way, there was a lot in there, and she saw a great deal.”

“Open sewers?” I asked.
“Mule-dung everywhere? B-b... Ugh!”

“All of those things,” said Gijs.
“I've written briefly of my time traipsing, and Rolf has also, and
then I asked her some questions while we were waiting for...”

Gijs' voice trailed off abruptly, then
his eyes bugged out as he squeaked, “what happened to your hair?”

“Uh, I had some trouble earlier
today,” I said.

“Chemicals?” asked Rolf.

“Uh, no,” I said. “It was up on
the third floor for much of it, then in the lowest basement level for
the other portion.”

A hand touched my scalp, then Sepp
muttered, “I'll see about a cap for you. It's still cold enough to
not want to be outside with no hair.”

“Cap?” I asked, as I recalled the
few examples I'd seen. I didn't want leather on my head.

“You might want a friar's cap,”
said Rolf, “or one used by chicken-pluckers.”

“Ch-chicken-plucker?” I gasped.

“Those are leather and well-padded,”
said Rolf.

“And those for friars?” asked
Sepp.

“Those are of cloth,” said Rolf.
“I think I might have seen a bag of those things in the cloth-room
earlier today with all those clothes.”

“Used clothes?” I asked. “Where
did they get them?”

“Most likely out of a storeroom on
the upper floors,” said Gijs. “Traveling, especially long rides,
tends to be hard on the clothing, and one wants loose stuff that's
well-washed, so it isn't hard on the body.”

“Uh, greens?” I asked.

“Most guard clothing isn't wise for
riding,” said Gijs, “but that kind works well for it.”

“Riding?” I asked.

“Three to five students and a
buggy,” said Gijs. “Everyone except the buggy-driver rides
horseback.”

“Buggy-driver?” I asked.

“That depends,” said Rolf. “With
us, we traded off every other stop for water, and the riderless horse
trailed behind the buggy.”

“What did you have in that buggy?”
I asked. “Baggage?”

Rolf laughed, then said, “who said
that? Gabriel?”

I nodded, then asked, “what was it?”

“He didn't go to the west school,”
said Gijs. “We carried food, grain for the horses, our tent, a few
ground-cloths, clothing, miscellaneous supplies, and our tub.”

“Tub?” I gasped.

“It got used regularly,” said
Gijs. “Bathing in the evening, then our clothing, and hanging the
stuff from ropes under the trees to dry overnight, and all of that
while either cooking or writing in our journals.”

“Late nights?” I asked.

“And early starts,” said Rolf.
“We were on the road by sunrise as a rule, and seldom stopped long
before sundown, at least until we were in our plotted area.”

“Plotted area?” I asked.

“The reason why we traveled,” said
Gijs. “We commonly set up a base camp for a few days in a
promising area, and then did our work.”

“Work?” I asked. “What kind?”

“Record what we saw,” he said.
“Where towns were, how big they were, the countryside between them,
the animals, and whatever else we found, at least for the more-common
places. The less-common ones...”

“Those tended to go into the
Compendium if the writer was any good,” said Rolf.

“How did you bathe?” I asked.

“Quickly,” said Gijs. “Cold
water tends to make for rapid bathing, even when a screen is handy.”

“A screen?” I asked.

“Ground-cloths, sail-rope, and
canes,” he said. “I wished we had had one of those
aquavit-burning things and a water-boiler, as that would have helped
a lot.”

“A heating lamp?” I asked. “A
mess-kit?”

“Traipsing tends to be messy,”
said Gijs. “Do mess kits help that way?”

“Uh, no,” I said. “Those are
for cooking, though three people would stretch the ones I've made.”

“How big are they?” asked Rolf.

I indicated the size with my hands,
then a faint whistle came from Gijs.

“I'd be careful about those,” said
Gijs, “as if the students find out, they will bury you with work.”

“What did you use?” I asked.

“Nothing that handy or neat,” said
Gijs. “With eight people, you might want more than one.”

“Or a larger pot,” said Sepp.

“How much larger?” I asked.

“That depends on how much you will
want to eat,” said Gijs. “Hard traveling does strange things to
the appetite.”

“Uh, great hunger?” I asked.

“I'm not sure what happens,” said
Rolf, “but school tends to remove some of one's inclination toward
food.”

“Especially while traipsing,” said
Gijs. “You never want to go out more than a month, as then
sickness and weakness become troublesome. Mother would try stuffing
me when I came home during Festival Week, and I needed it.”

“But I thought...”

“I don't know what happens to
freighters, or most others that travel,” said Gijs, “but they
seem to think themselves gluttons.”

“And otherwise with students?” I
asked. “As in their minds are on things beyond food?”

“I think you're right,” said Gijs.
“I tended to worry more about feeding the horses than myself.”

I paused for a moment, then asked,
“what kind of food did you eat?”

Gijs looked at Rolf, then the latter
said, “beer and bread when we could get it, game if it showed...”

“Is that how you got all of those
welts?” asked Gijs.

“It took all of us to settle down
that fool-hen,” said Rolf, “and until it was dead, it seemed to
have five more beaks than is common for birds.”

“Geneva?” I asked.

“You want that for the bugs,” said
Gijs. “Those can be trouble to the south.”

“No, for the welts,” I said.

“We'd used up what we brought, and
getting more wasn't easy in that place,” said Rolf.
“Besides, we were only two days out from the school, and we could
rest while doing our reports. One can find Geneva in the fourth
kingdom's market readily.”

“Porridge?” I asked.

“I'd take some just in case,” said
Gijs. “If one of the party is a decent cook, I'd have that person
be in charge of victuals.”

“What is this word?” asked Karl
with a snort. I suspected he had been napping.

“Food,” I said.

“What kind?” asked Karl with a
wink.

“We commonly carried potatoes,
carrots...”

Karl interrupted Gijs by saying, “I'd
best hide plenty of that stuff, and hide it good, then.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“I have heard about how you are,”
said Karl slyly. “You might not look like a burrowing rodent, but
you like that type of food.”

“I doubt he eats those things raw,
Karl,” said Sepp. “If you like potato soup, I'd fetch
along a decent-sized pot.”

“Decent-sized?” I asked.

Sepp indicated one about a food across
and nearly as deep, then said, “are you going to bring one of those
drunken lanterns?”

“Drunken l-lantern?” I squeaked.

“They take aquavit,” said Sepp.
“I've heard they work well.”

“They do,” I said, “but a big
pot... “Perhaps a bit smaller than what you spoke of?”

“I don't know about you,” said
Karl, “but I would try getting one of Anna's.”

“It might be too big for the cooking
stand,” I said.

“Do those fold?” asked Gijs.

I nodded, then said, “I think I have
three of them in the queue at work.”

“I think one of them is mine, then,”
said Gijs, “as well as a smaller one of those aquavit-burning
lamps.”

“Smaller?” I asked.

“The big ones are better for
families,” said Gijs. “Hans said the smaller ones were better
for people just starting out.”

I thought for a moment, then noted
Rolf writing something. He looked up, then said, “we should have
this ready for checking over when you post next. Do you know when?”

I shook my head, then said, “between
work and other things, I hope it isn't going to be all the time.
I've got two buggies' metalwork to go through, and I hope I can find
someone to tell me what is wanted.”

“That I can speak of,” said Rolf.
“You want free-turning hubs, clear passages, hard bolts, and tight
wrenches – oh, and blackened metal if you have the time and
supplies for it.”

“Not the color itself, but how it
stands up to dampness,” said Rolf. “If it's done right, it helps
prevent rusting.”

“Done right?” I asked.

“Some places do better than others,”
said Rolf. “One of my first traipsing days was spent at the
Heinrich works, and they did a lot of their work that way.”

“Did you get a recipe?” I asked.

“It uses lye, a liquid death
compound, chlorate of potash, salt, and perhaps two other chemicals,”
said Rolf, “and all of them have to be carefully purified. Beyond
that, I don't recall much.”

“I do,” said Gijs. “That recipe
is in one of those books used by instrument-makers.”

“It isn't the exact same one,”
said Rolf. “I tried that recipe, and it seemed more for
looks.”

“You tried it?” I asked.

“Yes, at school in one of the
chemistry laboratories,” said Rolf. “I did up the locks and
other metal parts for a fowling piece.”

“And?” I asked.

“The color was streaky and wore
rapidly,” said Rolf, “and I had to repeat the process several
times until the gun came good.”

“What happened then?” I asked.

“It finally took,” said
Rolf. “Until then, I had to keep it oiled all the time, just as if
it were bright-metal.”

“And after?”

“It wasn't nearly as hard to
look after,” he said. “I used a rag and this strange oily stuff
I got...”

I removed my container of 'motor-oil'
from my bag, and passed it to Rolf. He uncorked the vial, put his
finger in, then looked at the yellow-brown liquid.

“It was like this, only lighter in
color,” he said, “and it had more of a smell.”

“Smell or not, that stuff works
better than anything,” said Sepp. “It stops rust entirely if you
wipe things down regularly.”

Rolf looked more at his finger, felt
the oil, then said, “this would have worked well in the buggies.
Where did you get it?”

“Uh...”

“You want to speak to Hans,” said
Karl. “I just got a small vial of the stuff, that and a stick of
that tallow that does not smell.”

I then recalled the need of a pack,
and thought to speak of it.

“Did any of you ever use a pack?”
I asked.

“No,” said Gijs. “The buggy
carried most of what we had, and our satchels had those things we
wanted close.” A brief pause, then “what is a pack?”

I was at a loss for words, so much so
that when Sepp brought out a slate and passed it to me, I gasped
twice before speaking.

“Where did you, uh, see this?” I
asked.

“I went back in that room with the
bath-towels this morning,” said Sepp, “as I suspected I wanted
another, and it took me a while to find them.”

“Did you?” I asked.

“Those you found were easy to find,”
said Sepp. “I looked around a bit more, and found more of them.”
A brief pause, then “I found four things like what I drew, and I
wanted to ask someone as to what they were.”

“That thing looks like a pack,” I
said, “only... How big was it?”

Sepp indicated with his hands, then
said, “it was nearly big enough to crawl inside.”

“N-no,” I shuddered, as I shook my
head. “I had two of these things, and I was thinking of the
smaller one's size.”

“How big was it?” asked Gijs.

“About a foot or so wide, eight
inches thick, and perhaps twenty inches tall,” I said, “with a
small pouch on the rear closed by a pair of straps.”

“That sounds like a student's
satchel,” said Rolf. “Did it have a rope to hold it with?”

“It had straps,” I said. “One
wore it on the back.” A brief pause, then “the larger one was a
little larger.”

“You could not crawl inside such a
thing,” said Karl, “not unless you were a baby.”

“How would you know?” asked
Sepp.

“Mother's sister had a pair of them
last year, and she brought both of them over when they were still
new,” said Karl, “and both of them were bad about crawling into
things.”

“Into what?” I asked.

“One of them got into the barn,”
said Karl, “and he got all sticky with the horse-grain there. It
made him easier to catch.”

“Catch?” I asked.

“He was in the barrel,” said Karl.

“Overturned?” I asked.

“I am not sure if that was what he
was doing,” said Karl, “as all I could see was his feet. He was
enjoying himself, though, and that made him easier to carry inside.”

Sepp looked at me knowingly, then
said, “neither sister went out into the barn, but they were good
about finding things.”

“Finding things?” I asked. “What
did they find?”

“My shoes, for one,” said Sepp.
“Babies are strange that way, especially when it comes to hiding.”

“They hid your shoes?” I asked.

“They did that more than once,”
said Sepp. “Once mother found one of them in with the potatoes.”

“How old were these children?” I
asked.

“They were close to sprouting
teeth,” said Sepp. “I had just started going to school, so it
was a while ago.”

Our relief came early, to my
astonishment, and after hearing of the next post – three days
hence, and the same posting as our current one – I thought to hie
myself up to the leather shop.

As I walked into the main hall of the
first floor, however, I recalled the fabric portions of the two packs
I had used, and thought, “why do I have the impression the whole
thing needs to be made of leather? Is it the lack of a suitable
fabric? The matter of wear..?”

I stopped just in time to avoid a
collision with a support-column, and moved to the left. The stairs
were but a short distance away, and once on the second floor proper,
I passed the way to Andreas' shop, then continued on. As I did,
however, I wondered as to buckles and the handful of metal fittings
needed, and only when I opened the door to the leather shop itself
did my thinking jerk away from its path.

I was speechless, for the packs Sepp
had mentioned were occupying the tables I had recalled seeing.

“Uh, is this a bad time?” I asked.

“Why?” asked one of the men. I
recognized his voice as that of the 'leader'.

“That trip...”

“So that's why these need to be
looked over,” he said. “Will you be using one?”

“One of th-those things?” I
gasped. “They're huge!”

“That's what you want for a long
trip, and that trip is supposed to be as long as they go,” he said.

“Uh, no,” I spluttered. “Here,
let me draw what I'm after, and then you tell me.”

I spent ten minutes with pencil and
paper, and here, I saw the disadvantage with the small size of the
ledger's pages. As I drew, however, I suddenly recalled the
'evidence' that I had forgotten to speak of and nearly fainted.

“Gabriel spoke of those,” said the
soft voice.

“Those p-papers?” I asked
silently.

“I would drop those off with Gabriel
before you leave,” said the soft voice. “Those men could easily
translate them for you.”

“They are important, aren't they?”
I thought.

“Rather less and more,” said the
soft voice. “Their chief use now is to give insight into the
workings of witchdom.”

“That is important,” I
thought, as I resumed drawing.

Once I had the thing 'drawn', I showed
it to the men in turn. I was astonished at what they were doing to
the packs, however, and as I looked closer at one of the 'monstrous'
things, the 'leader' said, “we don't have the cloth for these,
which is why we're patching them.”

“L-leather?” I asked.

“For one like you drew, that would
work well,” he said. “We recently tanned several deer-hides, and
those would be best for most of it.”

“Buckles and fittings?” I asked.

One of the other men came with a cloth
bag, then opened it. Several 'nickel' buckles came tumbling out onto
the nearest table, followed by a number of bronze ones.

“Which kind?” he asked. “The
bronze ones were made in the house.”

“Uh, no sh-shiny things,” I said.

“Good, because someone else wanted
those,” he said, “and if this is who I think it is, he can have
them.”

“Those fifth-kingdom buckles?”
asked the man with the cracked voice.

“Aye,” said the other, who began
bagging them up. He set aside the bronze ones. “Talk has it
Andreas did the bronze ones, and they look likely.”

“And I have buggy-parts at home to
work on,” I said.

After indicating the various pockets I
wanted – two on the side, in addition to the small one at the rear
– and the other portions of importance, those being chiefly
comfort, I left the shop. I suspected it would take several days to
finish the pack, and as I went across the hall toward the
small-stairs, I felt for the bag with the paper-wads in it.

“Oh!” I squeaked. “I didn't
show him the compass.”

“That was an added bonus,” said
the soft voice, “and it will earn its keep in the very near
future.”

I surprised Gabriel more than a little
when I came to his office, for he was writing furiously while
consulting the ledger. I wormed out the bag, and as he untied my
clumsy knot, he said, “I'm glad it isn't just me who has trouble
that way.”

“Knots?” I asked.

“Those especially,” he said, as he
opened the bag. “Now what are these?”

“Some papers I retrieved from
various witches,” I said, “and they have useful information of
some kind. I was told the council-members would have an idea as to
their meaning.”

“Good that you brought them, then,”
said Gabriel. “It looks like another long day, and not just for
me.”

“That group will step off two stops
north of the border,” said Gabriel, “and it will leave just after
sundown. The others will follow it at short intervals, and the post
will stop at each of the kingdom houses.”

Upon leaving Gabriel's office, I
wondered what next I needed to do. I was still too drained to walk
far, and yet as I thought on the matter, I I knew I needed to go home
and rest. I was in such a frightful 'funk' that I nearly collided
with that one young man that looked like a jockey, and only by
catching myself on the nearest wall did I not fall down.

“S-sorry,” I mumbled. “I'm
really tired.” A brief pause, then, “do you know who I can see
about a ride home?”

“You might go out back and ask for a
hostler,” he said, “but before you do much, I would get a hat.”

“A hat?” I asked. “Where?”

“Here, follow me,” he said.
“There's a lot of stuff in the cloth-room right now.”

As I drag-footed my way in the young
man's wake, I seemed to hear his name in my ears, and I whispered,
“Thomas, please, I'm really tired.”

He stopped in mid-stride, turned to
me, and said, “how did you know my name?”

“I-I'm not sure,” I said. “I
seemed to hear your name somehow, and, oh... You really wanted to go
to the west school, didn't you?”

“I did,” he said, as he resumed
walking at a slower pace, “but those places are costly.”

“So I heard,” I said. “Then,
those 'sponsored' positions aren't.”

“I tried for one, and was told...
What?” he squeaked.

“They take somewhat less
money than the regular instances,” I said, “but unlike those, one
must deliver the money in a lump-sum, more or less. That reserves
them for those who are really wealthy.”

“How do you know this?” he asked.
We were now on the other side of the main hall and following its
strange meandering outline. It vaguely reminded me of a saw's teeth.

“I'm not certain if it's true,” I
said softly. “I would want it checked out before doing anything.”

A brief pause, then “those positions
tend to be filled by people who like bad food and worse drink, and
their papers get, uh, smudged. That makes them look better
than they really are.”

We now entered the hallway that led to
the cloth-room, and once inside, I was astonished at the wicker
baskets piled with clothing. They seemed to be everywhere, and
several women were sorting through them carefully. I found a stool
and sat upon it with a creaking noise, while Thomas went somewhere to
my right. I dozed off nearly instantly.

I was awoken by someone placing a soft
cloth 'cap' on my head, and as it was adjusted, I sighed softly.

“I wondered how you were sitting
there like that,” said a female voice. “Thomas was quite
excited.”

“How?” I asked. My speech was as
much a yawn as all else.

“He found this cap, and it needed
some tailoring,” she said, “and while I was doing that, he met
one of the councilors. They were talking for a minute about the
higher schools.”

“You were right,” said Thomas, as
he showed to my left. “I asked about all of what you said.”

“Oh, no,” I gasped. “Please, I
don't want to be a witch.”

“You are not a witch,” said
Thomas. “They can't do that, and they feel awful.”

“They can't?” I squeaked.

“I spoke about that part too,”
said Thomas, “and that man that told me gave up on being a witch,
so he would know.”

“All of those people felt worse than
awful to be around,” said the woman. “There.”

I felt my head, and felt soft cloth,
then asked, “what color is this thing?”

“A medium brown color,” she said.
“It should do until you can find a better one.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“Most of that stored clothing hasn't
been worn that much,” she said, “while that cap seems to be a
rare exception. It's a bit frayed in places.”

“I think we can go to the horse-barn
now,” said Thomas. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Uh, no,” I mumbled. “I might
want some cider, perhaps.”

After filling the water-bottle at the
refectory, I wobbled back towards the main entrance, then once
outside, I was astonished to see at least two hours left of daylight.

Thomas was on my left, and as we moved
slowly through the trees in the direction of the horse-barn, I
recalled the long building to my right. It seemed to all but hum
with activity, and when someone came out of a side door with a
bulging cloth bag, Thomas said, “that trip has really built a fire
under those people, and most in the house are glad of it. I know I
am.”

“You are?” I asked.

“The shavings,” said Thomas.
“I've made my share of trips over to Houtlaan so as to pick up
scraps of wood.”

“Do you live in the house?” I
asked.

“During the week I do,” said
Thomas, “same as many who live a day's journey away.”

“And otherwise?” I asked.

“I usually catch a ride when I
cannot borrow one of the horses here,” he said. “I'd rather go
horseback, as I get home before dark then.”

Thomas paused, then said, “and
there's one in there that I'd really like to get to know, but I don't
have the time.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“I think that horse is bronze-shod,”
said Thomas. “I'm not sure what it is otherwise. I hope it's a
mare.”

“Mare?” I asked.

“They tend to be faster,” said
Thomas, “even if their bearing is less.”

“Bearing?” I asked.

“I was light enough for most of them
to endure me,” he said. “Why, haven't you ever..?”

“N-no,” I gasped, “and they
frighten me.”

A faint snorting noise came from
ahead, then a hoarse braying noise. Thomas flinched, then said,
“that's one of the reasons I tend to not have the time.”

“Th-that mule?” I asked.

“I d-do not like mules,” said
Thomas, “and one of the hostlers rides that one.”

“Is he...” I gasped.

“I think he's poor,” said Thomas.
“Mules might be uncommon for the most part, but they can be had
cheaply, and that's for their purchase.”

“Do they, uh, make up for it with
their appetite?” I asked.

“I'm not certain what mules eat,”
said Thomas. “You might ask him.”

We continued to the right, such that
the hedge showed its dark green ruffled exterior through the trees.
The horse-barn was ahead still, though somewhat to the right, and I
was astonished when we encountered it.

“I nearly ran into that one,” I
thought, as it seemed to show but feet away with stunning abruptness.
I wondered if I was asleep on my feet, and that more than a little.

I also wondered if riding was wise,
save in a buggy in the rear box.

For some reason, however, I now saw
details of the building. Its green tiled roof, its small latticed
windows, its stone construction, even the whiteness of the mortar
between the stones – all of this seemed beyond comprehension, and
when I came to a small door wafting steam into the cooling air, I
wondered if this was the door.

“N-no, it isn't,” I thought.
“That was bigger, and it had two of them, and a...”

“The door's just up ahead,” said
Thomas. “Those smaller doors are to keep the building cooler.”

“Cooler?” I asked.

“Horses tend to be warm in
buildings,” said Thomas, “especially that type of building. I've
never been cold in there, no matter how much snow was on the ground,
and more than once, I've slept inside.”

“You've slept in there?” I asked.

“The house proper tends to be nearly
the opposite,” said Thomas. “Only during high summer is it warm,
and that's if you're above ground. Those lower levels could pass for
the cook's cold-room then, and it's worse during the winter.”

The doorway proper to the stable
showed but a minute later, and its wide-flung doors showed someone
sitting on a stool with harness in his lap. He was using a stitching
awl like one of those I had, and as I looked around in a
fatigued-seeming daze, I heard again the shrill-sounding neigh of
that one horse.

I startled, and as I tried to find my
bearings, I heard the bray of the mule. Unlike all the times before,
the loudness of the animal was shattering, and the after-noise – a
faintly liquid-sounding discharge – made for mumbling on my part.
I recalled the statement of the instructor, and his comments about
mules.

“S-slow in the head, and sluggish
for moving,” I thought, “and I certainly feel that way.”

The man looked up with a start and saw
me, and as my gaze wandered, I noticed Thomas had 'vanished'.

“I wondered when you would come,”
he said. “Let me finish this, and I can show you how to ride.”

“R-ride?” I thought. “In my
condition? I would fall off!”

However, I did not speak of my fear,
and as I watched him in a seeming daze, he carefully made several
more stitches prior to turning over the leather straps and knotting
the threads. He was speaking afterward, and I heard but part of what
he said.

“There, done,” he said. “I need
to look after the mule first, as I ride it.”

My murmured reply was echoed by the
crackling sound inside my head of my marrow chilling rapidly, and my
finishing words were drowned out by the mule braying again – only
this time, the mule's punctuation was a rumbling noise that spoke
volumes.

“Oooh, that smell,” I
thought. “Is that why mules smell so?”

The man stood with the harness, and as
I followed him in, I asked quietly, “what do you need to do with
the mule?”

“First some mash,” he said, “and
then this tincture I got from Hans.”

“Tincture?” I asked.

“He said it was used for corked
bulls,” said the hostler. “I'll need to wait a short time after
dosing it.” He paused, then said, “I learned the hard way
about saddling mules.”

“Hard way?” I gasped, as I 'woke
up'.

“I don't fancy getting kicked in the
head again,” he said. “Without periodic dosing, mules tend to be
especially fractious, or so people say.”

I was about to speak, and he cut me
off, muttering, “so they say. I know better, and that's for
mules that have been deodorized. Those otherwise are worse.”

“Deodorized?”
I thought. “Are there such animals that smell worse?”

“I've but
heard that about mules,” he said. “This one is the tamest of the
three I've seen, and it was the most expensive to buy.”

This comment had me reaching into my
pockets, for some reason, and as the hostler put the harness on a
long thin planked table, I paused to see what he had present.

Harness hung from head-height pegs in
vast leather profusion, while below it hung a multitude of 'bits' and
other things I did not recognize. Below those implements of torment,
and but a foot above the table, hung various tools in cloth sacks.
More than a few had stamped tin labels.

I followed him somewhat deeper into
the building, and when he turned left at a slightly narrower passage,
I noted the straw on the floor. The bleached off-white stalks of the
stuff made for wondering on my part, as I hadn't seen anything like
it before.

This passageway was long, cavernous,
dimly lit with a multitude of brass candle-lanterns, and lined with
door-less stalls, while near each such doorway lay piled mounds of
chopped hay and grain-sacks. More harness hung from pegs on the
walls. I followed the hostler closely while being wary for the mule
and its bullseye-shooting feet.

He paused at an open stall with a
larger-than-usual hay-mound in front of it, then cautiously looked
within. The 'odor of mule' was now such that I nearly fainted; I
marveled at his capacity to endure the stink. He found a sack, and
as he began to bring out various supplies to array them on a small
table, I thought to ask what he was doing.

“Mash?” I asked.

“Hans spoke of it,” he said, as he
began scooping coarse-ground barley into a wooden 'mortar'. “He
said this type was used for corked bulls and mules.”

I watched in nose-wrinkled fascination
as the hostler added old-smelling hops and what looked to be
Lion-Brew. The pungent aroma caught my nose and twisted it.

“Is that..?”

“I like beer, but that stuff
is a bit much,” he said. “It works well in the mash.” He
paused, then began mixing the stuff with a turned wooden 'pestle'.
“Supposedly, where mules are common, they are given other things.”

“Common?” I asked.

“Talk has it there are lots of them
in the Swartsburg,” he said, “and they can be found points south,
also, but they are most common in the fifth kingdom, and that part I
can speak of. I spent two years traipsing down that way.”

“What is it like down there?” I
asked.

“Hot, dry, smelly, and expensive,”
he said. “Horses tend to do poorly there, unlike mules, and that
presumes you can get a horse – and that's outside of the mining
country. No one rides horses there.”

He paused, then drew forth from the
bag a large ceramic vial, which he uncorked.

“The tincture?” I asked.

“Aye, it is,” he said. “I'll
need to get some more from Hans soon enough.”

He added a modest dollop of the
dark-colored malodorous liquid, corked the vial, and returned it to
the bag. He then belabored the pestle, and between stints, added more
Lion-Brew. The reek of the stuff steadily grew as the texture
changed, until when it was pronounced 'done', it looked like
badly-made porridge and competed with its prospective consumer for
stink.

He then
fetched an old tin plate that had been clumsily dished in to form a
broad-mouthed bowl of sorts, and poured out the contents of the
mortar into it.

The smell
seemed to be increasing, both from the mash and the mule. I wondered
what it meant, until he picked up the plate, darted into the doorway
unto the presence of the mule, and leaped back out as the straw
crackled under the mule's hooves. The sounds of eating now seemed to
penetrate my mind, and as I listened, the voracious aspect of the
mule became blatant.

“A-are
those that hungry for mash?” I asked.

“The only time mules are not
hungry,” he said, “is when they are gorged, and that is their
preferred state when awake. I am not sure how they feel when
asleep.” He paused while bagging up the rest of his supplies, then
said, “we can see to that horse while we wait.”

Once he'd hidden the bag in the straw,
he resumed walking down the passage, with steps at once cautious,
slow, and quiet amid the sounds of continued eating. I then turned
to look at the mule, for I had never seen a mule close-up before.

The shaggy gray mane of the animal
provided a contrast for the darker mottled gray of its hide, and its
splayed front legs seemed at once awkward and stiff. I followed the
right example down to the coal-black hoof to find a steely glinting,
but as I did, I saw the eyes...

The red-rimmed yellowed eyes that
wandered aimlessly in their orbits seemed a warning, and when I heard
the rumbling discharge, I caught up with the hostler quickly. The
odor was increasing, and threatened to smother me – and at the end
of the pulsating grunting noise, I heard liquid splattering on the
floor. It made for a strange recollection of a conversation I had
had in the recent past.

“Is there a place called
Mexico?” I thought, even as we passed more stalls occupied and
otherwise. “I really wonder.” Recalling the vaguely Spanish
sound of El Vallyé's speech didn't
help.

After
passing a number of sizable black and gray horses – not every stall
had a horse present, but many of them did – we passed one of those
smaller doors. I then noted the increasing brightness of the
lighting, and the absence of the hostler. I suspected asking where
he was wasn't wise.

A few more
steps, however, and it became obvious as to where he was: he was in a
larger-than-common stable part-walled with hay, and was putting on a
bridle. He'd already managed a saddle, and in shock, I looked
around. I then thought to look at the horse, and for some reason, I
winked.

He winked
back.

“Who is
this, Mr. Ed?” I thought. “I'm glad I don't need to deal with
Francis.”

The hostler soon left, and as he went
down the passageway back toward 'Francis the Flatulent Mule', I had
several impressions. First, I could 'speak' to this horse by means
of pictures, and secondly, I knew his name, that being Jaak.
I drew closer cautiously, then held still while he smelled me.

“That was
nice of you,” he seemed to say. “That girth-rope is too tight.”

“I can tell,” I said softly.
“That stuff looks about as comfortable as a roll in a
bramble-patch.”

I laid aside my equipment, and began
loosening the 'girth-rope'. It was a wide leather strap, and once
I'd taken it off, I removed the saddle and set it on the hay.

“I have no clue as to how to use any
of this,” I mumbled, as I now looked at the harness, “and this
thing here looks to be torment.” I then turned to see an
astonished hostler.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I again felt my money pouch, and dug
deeply. The heft of the thing seemed to have grown, and as I began
reaching inside, I jolted.

“Why do I feel so many gold monster
coins in here?” I thought, as I drew out several of them, then
reached for more. “There's got to be a dozen of those brutes.”

I gathered up 'several' of them, then
went to the hostler, saying as I did, “I have something for you.
Here.” I then put the gold pieces in his shaking hands.

He stood there in stunned shock, then
gasped, “what is this for?”

“Driver's education for horses,” I
said, “and seeing that mule only adds to what I've heard of them.”

While the man stood there stunned and
shocked, I resumed removing the harness. The 'bit' – a
horrible-looking bronze thing that seemed intended for torture –
went atop the saddle, along with the rest of the harness, and when I
checked the blanket, I flapped it out such that all of the straw and
foreign matter flew out into the air. I then folded it carefully
into a small pad roughly eighteen inches wide and twenty long, and
carefully laid it on the back of the horse. I then reached for my
bag. I needed to check the shoes.

I knelt down with the hoof-pick in my
hands, and as I looked carefully, I noted still the sounds of utter
silence from the hostler, until I began looking over the left rear
hoof.

“Th-there's s-s-seven of these
things,” he spluttered.

“Is that enough?” I asked calmly,
as I carefully checked the shoe for tightness.

“I th-think so,” he said.
“I c-can get a horse now.”

“And put Francis out to pasture,”
I thought. “I just hope that mash works.”

Thinking of mash made for retrieving a
cloth bag and filling it with some grain, and as I tied it, I
thought, “I hope we can get enough grain for him.”

As I put the bag in my satchel, I
could 'feel' the eyes of the still-stunned groom, and I turned to him
amidst putting my equipment back on.

“Yes?” I asked.

“W-why did you remove the s-saddle
and harness?” he stammered.

“I think he might not toss me that
way,” I said. “Will you, Jaak?”

The impression I had was unmistakable:
not merely did he feel much better, but he was inclined to travel,
and he backed this up by coming to the door of the stall and sniffing
my hair. I then followed the still-muttering groom – he was
speaking of wealthy lunatics with more money than sense – and as he
walked, I noted his still-quiet steps. He halted both speech and
boots when he came to the stall of the mule, and after a quick peek
inside, he slowly entered.

He returned some minutes later leading
the mule by a thick leather strap, and only then did I clearly see
the size and color of the animal.

The mule was nearly as large as Jaak
for size, with a rangy and harsh appearance, and as the animal slowly
clacked its glinting steel shoes on the floor of the stable, I was
again reminded of that one dark and nightmarish fictional horse. I
suspected there were equivalents to such animals, and I was seeing
one of them.

“I'm glad it isn't bucking,” I
thought. “That one h-horse was known for it.”

“He can out-buck anything in...”
came the voice of recollection.

I felt reminded of the shape of
mule-shoes, and with each slow step, I saw clearly the broad 'V'
outlined by steely glinting shapes. The clank of each shoe cut
through the hay on the floor, even past the left turn out into the
entrance and into the small clearing. There, I had a question.

“Now how do I get on?” I thought,
even as I carefully arranged the 'pad'. I then thought to leap.

I was astonished at how readily I did
so, and was astonished yet more at how softly I landed. My weight
seemed that of a very small child, and as Jaak moved to the side of
the clearing, I wondered how he took it.

I glanced to the mule, however, and
soon had another intimation as to why Jaak had given it a wide berth.

It was not inclined toward travel in
the slightest, and had parked its rump on the ground.

The hostler nudged its rear, and the
mule wobbled that portion skyward while attempting to turn around.
It nearly tangled its front legs in the process, and while the
hostler was ready for that behavior – he moved with the mule – I
wondered if he could get on. The mule, even though dosed, was still
disinclined to ride.

“Stinker wants to stay here and
devour the stable and its contents,” he muttered, as the mule
finally stood still.

“Is that its name?” I
asked.

“I'm not certain if it has a name,”
he said, as he put a foot in a stirrup, “but I am certain about its
appetite and its odor.”

The mule continued being obstinant,
even as he tried again to mount. I was beginning to get a picture of
mule behavior, and I almost spoke the three dread words naming the
animal. He then tried again, and this time managed to get in the
saddle. The mule then brayed, and 'jumped' – and then, it sat down
and tried to unload him.

The hostler remained seated, and the
mule stood back up. He then looked at me, noted that Jaak and I were
easily twenty feet clear, and slowly shook his head while speaking of
mules and their behavior.

“This mule is fairly well behaved,”
he said.

“What?” I squeaked.

“For a mule, that is,” he said.
“That horse is behaving very well for him, and I hope he will
endure you.”

“The front gate?” I asked. He
nodded, and led off.

I had no idea how to proceed, and
gingerly nudged Jaak's side with my right knee. The merest touch
sufficed, and he followed the mule.

“And soon, I won't even need to do
that,” I thought.

Within seconds, I knew that to be the
truth, for halting at the gate merely needed a quiet word, and by the
time we had passed Houtlaan, I was communicating much as I had with
the wolves. Town was still active, even as the sun was not pausing
in its steady hunting of where it hid itself in the east overnight,
and the two of us gathered many stares: Jaak was huge, at least eight
inches taller than either horse at home, and the mule continued with
its contentious ways.

While it
did not buck, it did 'jump' at times, and every time it did
so, I could see daylight beneath its flailing hooves for an instant
as it became airborne – and every horse-trough seemed a magnet for
the animal's thirst.

“No, not
here,” said the hostler, as the mule tried to drain another
horse-trough. “We haven't hardly gone half a mile.”

The mule
jerked, then switched its long and straggly tail like a whip as he
nudged it in the ribs, then once underway again, it raised its tail
straight up like a bristly flagpole and grunted for several seconds.
I was glad I was to the side of the animal.

“Phew!”
I thought. “That thing smells.”

It did that
several more times, until after one unusually long venting session,
it shot a projectile greenish streak to the rear to splatter on the
cobbles.

I wondered
when Jaak would be inclined toward water, even as we continued down
Huislaan, and when I saw the garden plots of the crow's foot, I
wondered more. Jaak seemed to have loosened up, and once on the
softer surface of the dirt-and-gravel road, he began moving faster.
Again, I felt reminded about mules, and the words of the instructor
came to me:

“Slow in
the head, and sluggish for moving.”

“Are
mules slow?” I thought. “This one seems to be.”

With the
passing minutes, however, it became steadily more obvious: between
gaseous emissions, squirts of dung, a lethargic aspect, and
tendencies toward misbehavior, mules were not good mounts. After one
particularly noisome deluge of greenish stuff from the mule's
posterior, I had an impression.

“Do mules
need antifreeze?” I thought. “This one seems about to boil
over and spew steam.”